The Sorrows of Spencer Reid
by Fandoms Unite
Summary: Reid's life is falling apart, and between his piercing headaches and odd behaviour, the rest of the team is beginning to notice. With the arrival of a new case reminiscent of his own past, Reid once again finds huge responsibilities resting on his shoulders. But soon, his mistakes will affect not only himself but everyone within the BAU, as someone will be leaving them forever...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

_**"You won't find a solution by saying there is no problem."**_

_**~ William Rotsler**_

"Hotch, I meant to tell you, I swear, it's just that, I..."

Spencer Reid trailed off, lost for words. His body language spoke clearly of defeat - his shoulders were slumped, and he seemed unable to look Hotch in the eye.

"Reid, you know what this means." Hotch said gravely. His tone was serious, but not angry - in fact, it sounded more human than Reid was used to from his boss. "I don't have any choice."

"Yes, sir." Reid muttered, still staring at his shoes.

"It's protocol." Hotch went on, sounding as though he were trying to set something straight in his thoughts. "The rest of the team would be in danger."

"I know, sir, and I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have kept-" Reid spluttered, finally gazing up into Hotch's stony face to see him shaking his head dismissively.

"No amount of apology can undo what has happened." he said in a grim tone. "Besides, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Reid's face broke into a look of intense guilt and horror. He hid the emotion a moment later, though, nodding in acceptance. He glanced down at his shoes again.

"I'll, er, need you to sign this." Hotch said, somewhat awkwardly, opening his desk draw and seizing a piece of paper out of it. He pushed it across the top of the desk to Reid.

It took him a fraction of a second to read it, but much longer for it to process - it was a letter of dismissal.

"You're off the team." Hotch said flatly.


	2. Chapter 1

_One month earlier..._

_**"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it."**_

_**~ Helen Keller**_

"Reid, will you please quit it?" cried the exasperated voice of Aaron Hotchner.

Hotchner (or, 'Hotch', as he was affectionately known by his team) had been trying to brief the team on some new security procedures that were being put into place at the FBI headquarters. Reid, however, had taken the opportunity to explain to Morgan the basics of the Algebraic Number Theory, causing Hotch a great deal of frustration.

"Sorry." Reid muttered, averting eye contact sheepishly.

"Ooh, Reid's in trouble." teased Prentiss, poking him softly in the shoulder. "Naughty boy, interrupting a security briefing."

"Will everyone just please pay attention?" Hotch sighed, putting his hands over his face in annoyance. "The sooner we finish this briefing, the better."

"What's this all for, anyway?" asked Rossi nonchalantly. "Back in the old days we didn't have any of these safety procedures, and we never got ourselves into trouble."

"Rossi, we're the FBI." Hotch scoffed. "We need good security, if anyone does."

"I really don't think the BAU are a huge target within the FBI." smirked J.J., her blonde hair swishing soundlessly as she turned to face Hotch.

"Are you kidding me? We're by far the best FBI unit. Behavioral Analysis for the win!" contradicted Penelope Garcia, grinning from behind her laptop screen.

"Come on, guys, let the man speak." Morgan sighed, leaning back in his chair and facing Hotch. The others followed suit.

"Okay, as I was saying, the technology department have activated a new pass code system to enter the building, as well as additional measures in the headquarter's confidential storage facilities." Hotch said, getting back on track. "This means that the area should be impossible to enter if we come under siege, as well as being difficult to escape successfully in a hostage situation."

"Excellent." Rossi said, with a hint of sarcasm.

Hotch gave him a displeased glare, but continued.

"As I sense your concentration may be waning." he said pointedly, looking at the glazed look on J.J.'s face, "I'll leave it up to Garcia to elaborate. I believe the information has been sent through to your tablets."

"Yes, sir, indeed it has." Garcia confirmed, strumming her keyboard enthusiastically. "It's in the ether right now."

Hotch picked up his tablet, and nodded in confirmation.

"Received. Well, you're free to go for now, but I'll need you back in the conference room in an hour. We may have a new case, but I just need to confirm with local police that they want us to help out."

The team eagerly dashed from the room and back to their desks.

"That was awfully exciting." Prentiss called out to Reid, collapsing into her chair as he did the same. "Don't you just love being in the FBI?"

"At least we aren't the CIA." Reid responded reasonably, leaning back comfortably into his chair.

"True, true." she laughed, but then her brow furrowed. "Hey, er, Reid?"

"Yes?" he responded blankly.

"Are you okay?" Prentiss asked, gazing carefully at him with a measured expression.

"Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" he responded immediately, but perhaps a little too fast - Prentiss caught the flash of concealment in his eyes, and stared at him skeptically.

"You've been acting odd lately, that's all." she commented, turning back to the stack of paperwork on her desk.

Reid's brow furrowed deeply, and he shook his head in a manner that suggested ridding himself of an extremely irritable fly.

"No, I'm certain I'm alright." he said, after some consideration, before he too turned to his desk and began to go through the mounds of accumulated paperwork. This, of course, was not entirely the truth, but Reid was not the type to speculate or gossip, and so he was planning on waiting until his fears were confirmed to divulge them.

Meanwhile, Hotch was sitting tensely in his office, holding the receiver of his well-used telephone up to his ear and listening to the speaker on the other end of the line with intense focus.

"Sir, are you certain that we could be of assistance?" Hotch asked, strumming his fingers on his desk in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion.

"Hotchner, we heard you were the best." replied a brusque voice - he had the hard voice of a military man.

"We are, and we can undoubtably work a profile for you, but I think it would be best to wait until we have more confirmation, if I may, sir-" Hotch answered.

"This is urgent, agent. If these threats are true..." the man trailed off, sighing deeply for effect.

"I understand, but I have to say I disagree - oh, Reid, come in."

Reid had appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of paperwork in the other, and staring expectingly at Hotch.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll have to call you back. Yes. Thank you." Hotch said quickly, slamming the phone onto its holder hastily before turning to Reid. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, I just need this case file to be signed off." he said, stumbling gracelessly into the room and passing his boss a folder full of paper.

Hotch grabbed out a pen and began signing the sheets, at which stage Reid summoned up the courage to ask what he had been wondering ever since he entered the room.

"Hey, Hotch, who was that on the phone?"

Hotch glanced up at Reid.

"Oh, just the local PD on a case we might be taking up." he said shortly. "He wanted to speak to me."

"Okay..." Reid responded skeptically, but he didn't comment further.

"There you go." Hotch said a moment later, passing the folder back to Reid.

He left the room, riddled with the distinct impression that he was not the only one hiding something from the team.


	3. Chapter 2

_**"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear."**_

_**~ Mark Twain.**_

The team were all in the meeting room an hour later, exactly as Hotch had instructed, but they were surprised to find their boss not there.

"Maybe he's on the phone." Morgan suggested, shrugging. "Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

"Oh, I hope our next case is in California, I could do with some sun." J.J. said wishfully, examining her skin for signs of paleness.

The group soon dissolved into casual chatter. Garcia arrived, customarily several minutes after the others (a deliberate attempt to dodge any "gross" case photographs).

"Hey, baby girl, you beat Hotch in here." Morgan said with a wink, as Garcia sat down next to him.

She gasped theatrically. "The apocalypse must be coming!"

Morgan had no time to reply, as the chat had died out and all eyes flown to the doorway.

"Well, this is unexpected." Rossi commented with raised eyebrows: Hotch had finally entered the room, ten full minutes late.

"Sorry, everyone, I had to wrap up a few things." he said, hurrying over the projector and clicking open a folder. "We have a new case, but I'm afraid it isn't exactly our usual type. It's a terrorist threat."

J.J. raised her eyebrows, and the rest of the team exchanged equally surprised looks.

"Why are we helping with a potential terrorist attack?" she asked, confused. "We generally don't get called in to profile terrorists. They're left up to Homeland Security, or else the CIA handle them."

"We've been called in because we have certain, er, experience with this particular case." Hotch said jerkily. "There have been threats that an internal terrorist may be targeting airports and large public spaces."

"Homegrown terrorists? Hotch, can you please explain what this is all about?" Rossi requested impatiently.

Hotch paused for a moment, a grieved look upon his face, before he quietly dictated a single word:

"Anthrax."

Garcia gasped and clutched Reid's arm, as all eyes flew to him. None of the team could ever forget the day when Reid had become infected with the killer disease whilst working on a case. He had only been cured by his own genius in finding the cure, by which time it was very nearly too late. He had been rushed to hospital, in a coma, and awoken some time later, a little worse for wear but luckily alive.

"Anthrax?" Reid stammered weakly, staring in shock at Hotch. "What do you... I mean, how is that possible?"

"There was a break in to Fort Detrick last week. All of the samples were taken." Hotch said in a hollow voice.

"But we have the cure in our database, surely we can just-" Garcia began, but Hotch shook his head.

"No. We have reason to believe that whoever took the samples had intent to modify them. The person who broke in had enough knowledge of the facility and it's contents to locate and safely transport the virus, so we think that they are capable of genetically modifying it." Hotch said weakly. "In other words, he can make it more deadly, more contagious, and not compatible with the cure in our databases."

"So what are we meant to do?" asked Prentiss breathlessly.

"We search for the UnSub, as usual." Hotch said, shrugging. "The military have put every airport in the country on alert, but they want us to lead the investigation into the person that stole the samples. If we can work out who they are, we can predict their next move."

The room was dead silent. All eyes were still on Reid, who seemed to have frozen in his seat.

"Okay, let's get to work, then." Hotch interjected, glaring around at the stunned faces. "Garcia and J.J., you check out the CCTV from the break in, see if you can identify any of the perpetrators. Morgan and Prentiss, you can go straight to the airstrip. The jet has been prepped, so you can get to the fort as soon as possible. Rossi, how about you go through the archives, try and find any similar cases that we might be able to link with this one. Reid, can I have a word with you?"

The others stared as Reid stood shakily and followed Hotch up to his office. He closed the door behind him, sat down behind his desk and gestured for Reid to do the same. He remained standing stubbornly.

"Reid, I'm so sorry we have to get involved in this, I completely understand how you must be feeling-" he began, but Reid frowned.

"No, you don't." he said, with a deeply furrowed brow. "Hotch, I almost died from this disease. I was lucky not to develop a post-traumatic stress disorder. And now I have to go back out there into the field, when I know some psychopath is on the loose with a possibly deadlier strain. You have no idea what that feels like."

"Reid, I don't expect you to go out in the field if you don't want to-" Hotch replied, disgruntled.

"Oh, come on, Hotch, you know as well as I do that I'm expected to enter the field." he retorted snappily. "I'm a field _agent_, not some pathetic cop who lives his life from behind a desk."

"Reid, listen-" Hotch began, attempting to cut off his ranting.

"No, Hotch, I won't listen!" he said angrily, voice raised to almost a yell. "I'm sick of being comforted and told that everything is fine after I've been kidnapped and tortured and almost killed, because it's not! None of that is okay, Hotch, and I don't want to be told that it's a part of the job! You can't expect us to just-"

"Spencer, please, sit down." Hotch said in a voice of dead calm. The use of his first name caught Reid off guard; he sat down apprehensively.

"Reid, you're right. I don't know exactly how you're feeling." he said shortly. "But I do know that it must be a terrible burden psychologically, and I certainly would not expect you to work the case if you don't wish to."

"Hotch, I'm sorry, I was being juvenile..." Reid muttered in embarrassed apology. "I'd like to, er, I mean, if it's okay with you, I'd like to work the case. I want to help catch this bastard before anyone gets hurt."

Hotch grinned and clapped Reid on the back as they both stood up.

"You're sounding more like Morgan by the day." Hotch said, smirking. Reid grimaced in mock horror.

Reid left the office, closed the door behind him, and was instantly swamped by a worried-looking J.J.

"Reid, are you okay?" she asked, clinging on to his arm in concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." he replied instantly, smiling in a way that he hoped came across as reassuring. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? You'd think I was emotionally unstable!"

He chuckled at his own joke, but J.J. frowned.

"We ask because we're worried about you, Spence." she said gently. "You've got a lot of weight on your shoulders."

"Lucky I'm so capable, then." Reid joked, and they walked back down to the his desk, J.J. still standing at his elbow and examining him carefully, as if for a sign of fear or uncertainty.

Reid showed no such thing, or else hid it well, but when J.J. remained standing immobile beside his desk he prompted her:

"Aren't you meant to be helping Garcia with the CCTV?"

"Oh, um, yes, I suppose so." she agreed breathlessly. "Well, I'll see you later, I guess."

Reid watched as J.J. strolled away, around the corner and (with a last backwards glance to check that Reid was still okay) off to Garcia's office. He shook his head, smiling, before turning back to his desk.


	4. Chapter 3

"_**In all human affairs there are efforts, and there are results, and the strength of the effort is the measure of the result."**_

_**~ James Allen**_

Usually, Hotch would assign each member of the team to an area of the case, but he had deliberately given Reid free reign on this occasion. He was grateful for this - with a case that was so personally close to him, Reid was glad that the decision of precisely how he could assist was left for he himself to make. He wanted to do something vital, something that only someone with an intellectual capacity as high as his could perform.

He returned to the conference room, and stared thoughtfully at the case information that Hotch had left open on the computer. There was very little to go off, and no physical evidence had been detected - whoever had broken in was a professional.

Reid paced up and down unconsciously, running the facts through his head. Terrorist threats had been made to airports nationwide. Every last sample had been stolen, with intent to adjust the strain to make it deadlier-

He froze mid-step. How did Hotch know about the UnSub's intent to modify the samples? Hotch hadn't named his sources, yet Reid had come to the conclusion that the best way he could track down the UnSub was to trace their motives, and eliminate suspects until he found one with suitable training and resources. He needed to know who had tipped them off on such a vital piece of information.

Reid dashed across the open office space to Hotch's office, and knocked hastily at the door.

"Are you alright, Reid?" Hotch asked, looking up from his desk with alarm.

"Yes, sir, I'm fine." he said breathlessly. "I was just going over what we've got so far, and was wondering: what was the information source that suggested the UnSub might have intent to modify the samples?"

Hotch flicked open the case file, and scanned the front page before furrowing his brow.

"It says here that a statement was made by a Dr. Gerard Anderson, who worked at the facility."

"Worked?" Reid repeated.

"Yes, he was dismissed about a week before the samples were stolen. Complaints had been made by other staff members about his aggravated and unpredictable behavior." Hotch said, reading from the case files on his desk. "He was a suspect, but the Fort Detrick security staff couldn't find anything more than circumstantial evidence to link him with the robbery."

"Anger issues and complaints reported around the time of the crime, Hotch, we need to bring this guy in for a chat." Reid said, thinking out loud. "Plus we need to know how he knew the samples were going to be modified. Oh, and can I have a copy of those files for reference?"

"Sure thing. You make the call to bring Anderson in." Hotch replied, passing the stack of paper across to Reid.

Reid began to leave, but was almost instantly called back.

"Hey, Reid!" Hotch said loudly.

"Yes, sir?" Reid replied, turning back to face him. He was smiling.

"Nice work." he commented. Reid grinned, strolled back to his desk and dumped the papers, before collapsing into his chair.

"Here we go." he muttered, picking up the receiver.

Morgan was driving from a nearby airstrip to Fort Detrick's main facility, accompanied by a deadly silent Prentiss in the passenger seat. Morgan strummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and rolled his eyes, before giving in and speaking.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, glancing across at her.

"It's not me." she sighed, arms folded across her chest. "It's Reid."

"What's wrong with pretty boy now?" he said jokingly, but Prentiss didn't laugh.

"I'm not sure." she replied uneasily. "He's been acting odd lately. More odd than usual, I mean. He seems nervous about something."

"Have you asked him?" Morgan questioned.

"Of course I have, and he just denies anything is the matter. But he's not okay. The other day I walked in on him in the conference room, and he looked... well, he look seriously unwell, quite frankly. He just said it was a headache, but..." she trailed off, sighing.

"You can't help him if he won't open up." Morgan said reasonably.

"I know, but who knows what could be wrong with him?" Prentiss murmured in concern. "What if he's started using dilaudid again?"

"He wouldn't. He's past all that now." Morgan answered instantly.

They were both silent for a moment as they recalled Reid's horrible months of addiction to the painkilling drug dilaudid following his kidnapping and torture at the hands of Tobias Hankel. Reid had suffered from the stress of his ordeal, as well as the medical withdrawal from the drug, and only through attending a support class had he been able to remove himself from the drug.

"I hope not." Prentiss said finally, breaking the silence. "I really hope not."

"He wouldn't. I know that kid, and whatever's the matter with him, he's not using again. He just wouldn't." Morgan said reassuringly, as their SUV pulled up at the heavily-armed gates of Fort Detrick. A guard with a large machine gun instantly approached their vehicle.

"Agents Morgan and Prentiss from the BAU, here to investigate the recent robberies." Morgan dictated professionally, winding down the window and addressing the guard. He nodded, and the gates slid back slowly.

Morgan wound the window back up and entered, pulling up directly in front of the building's doors. He and Prentiss bounded out of the car and strolled into the lobby.

The room was like a combination of a hospital and a military bunker; the walls were a bright, sterile white, the floor industrial-style steel, and the doors were evidently computer-controlled, as they had no handles on the outside. The space was void of furniture but for what appeared to be a pay window positioned on the side wall (excluding, of course, the large quantity of CCTV cameras that covered the roof).

Prentiss raised her eyebrows at the bizarre setting, but followed Morgan over to the window. A middle-aged man with a navy buzz cut sat behind a thick pane of bullet-proof glass, and peered out at them with an entirely unsurprised stare. They pulled out their FBI badges simultaneously, and he glanced briefly at them before leaving his seat and disappearing from sight. He returned momentarily with an elderly man in a white lab coat, who he escorted into the lobby via a neighboring door before returning to his desk behind the window.

"Welcome agents, I am Dr. Stevenson, the head researcher of the facility." the elderly man stated, shaking their hands in turn and smiling politely.

"I'm Agent Prentiss, and this is Agent Morgan." Prentiss replied.

"Lovely to meet you, even if the circumstances are grim. Now, I'd assume you have some questions to ask?" Dr. Stevenson asked.

"We do, thank you doctor. But first, is there any chance we can see the crime scene?" Morgan questioned, peering around the lobby.

"Ah, of course, follow me." he answered, approaching one of the handleless doors on the back wall. He pulled an access card out of his lab coat pocket and swiped it on a receiver beside the door, which sprung open with a faint hiss.

"An access card system?" Morgan asked skeptically. "That doesn't seem like a very secure way to guard destructive bioweapons."

"I know what you're thinking, Agent Morgan." Dr. Stevenson said with a smile. "Easily stolen, access cards, and equally easily misplaced. But I assure you, the system is ingenious. See, every person that comes through these doors is facially captured on high-definition CCTV, which is instantly relayed through the national database to check for an criminal history. Meanwhile, your exact time-of-entrance, and your card number, is recorded and backed up onto multiple computer storage drives, so that if the file is lost on one, we still have a copy of whoever has accessed the facility.

The agents pressed no further questions, so he gestured for Morgan and Prentiss to enter, and swung the door shut behind them.

"Each door in this facility has a different security level clearance." Dr. Stevenson continued, leading the way through a labyrinth of sterile corridors and more handleless doors. "That way, our researchers only have access to material that they are professionally trained to handle."

"And how many people were qualified to handle the anthrax samples?" Prentiss questioned.

"Four, one of them being myself." he answered instantly. "The anthrax samples had attracted quite a lot of terrorist interest since the 2001 attacks, and the more recent incident with one of your agents."

The man laughed at the surprised looks on Morgan and Prentiss's faces.

"Oh yes, I know all about your encounter not too long ago." he said, smirking. "Despite the FBI's best attempts to hush it up, news does travel..."

"So who else had access, apart from you?" Morgan stammered, getting back on track.

"Well, there is my research partner, Dr. Gardner, as well as Dr. Miller, and Dr. Burton. I'll fetch you their personal files on your way out." Dr. Stevenson answered helpfully, finally coming to a stop any yet another identical steel door. He opened it with a swipe of his access card, and walked in without hesitation. "The anthrax samples were kept in the third row from the bottom."

"Is this it?" Prentiss asked in confusion, and Morgan could see her train of thought: nothing in the room looked remotely out-of-place. Dr. Stevenson smiled understandingly.

The room was lit with ultraviolet lights that cast the whole space into an eerie glow, but there wasn't so much as an open door to indicate a break-in. The walls were covered in small square metal doors, each with their own keypad next to it on one side, and a screen relaying out information on the other.

"The screens relay temperature and the general status of the sample." Dr. Stevenson explained, pacing the room. "Each sample has their own keypad with a different access code, so that they can be retrieved or placed back individually and at will. Agent Morgan, please don't touch that!"

Morgan snatched his hand down from the temperature gauge of one of the doors, and mumbled an apology like a guilty schoolboy.

"Did all four of the people that could access this room have the code for the anthrax sample?" Prentiss asked, changing the subject swiftly.

"Yes." he answered, after a moment's hesitation. This was enough to attract both agent's attention.

"What's the matter, doctor?" Morgan questioned, walking towards Dr. Stevenson with a furrowed brow. "Did someone else know the code, perhaps someone who shouldn't have?"

"Well, I, er, I mean, we were going to change it." stuttered the man nervously. "We had to dismiss a researcher about a week before the anthrax went missing. The pass code was supposed to be changed, but our security staff are always extremely busy and they hadn't gotten around to it."

"Who is this researcher?" Prentiss prompted.

"His name is Dr. Anderson." Dr. Stevenson answered, but he seemed to be still unnerved following the admittance of a security failure.

"Why was Dr. Anderson fired?" Morgan inquired curiously.

"He was... well, he was strange, to be quite honest." he sighed. "Brilliant at his work, of course, but he never really got along with the other staff. He was easily angered, and took things personally. Sometimes he retaliated. Too many complaints had been made about his behavior to allow him to keep his job."

"We're going to need to see this guy's file, as well as the other ones on the people with access to this room." Morgan said firmly. "In the meantime, I think Agent Prentiss and I have seen enough. We'll call you if we have any more questions."

"Of course, of course, I'd be glad to help." Dr. Stevenson stammered, and he began leading them back to the lobby.

Ten minutes later, Morgan and Prentiss were back in their SUV, the back seat piled high with the personal files of the four current (and one previous) researchers.

"This Dr. Anderson sounds like someone we need to follow up." Morgan commented, putting the key into the ignition.

"I agree. He's got anger issues, and is most likely nursing a grudge against the facility: he sounds exactly like the type of guy who would break in and steal something, just to spite them." Prentiss replied.

"We'll head back to the jet for a quick check-in with the others, and after that we can see what Hotch wants us doing next." Morgan suggested.

"Great." Prentiss replied briefly, and watched the man-made mass of concrete and metal fade into Maryland countryside outside her window as they made their way back to the airstrip.


	5. Chapter 4

**"It is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail." **

**~ Abraham Maslow**

"Okay, Morgan, Prentiss, what did you find out?"

Hotch, Rossi, JJ, Garcia and Reid were gathered in the conference room, gazing at the projector which was displaying Morgan and Prentiss via webcam from the BAU jet.

"We spoke to the head of the facility, Dr. Stevenson, who was perfectly compliant, answered all of our questions without any trouble, and according to his personal file, has never had so much as a parking ticket." Prentiss began. "That, as well as adding to the fact that he's an elderly man with zero signs of emotional instability, tells me he's not our UnSub."

"But we also received the names of everyone who had access to the anthrax samples, a total of five, including Stevenson." Morgan added. "Basically, we've got three other current researchers, and then a far more satisfactory suspect, a researcher who was recently fired from the facility."

"Would that happen to be a Dr. Anderson?" Reid interjected.

"Okay, Reid, you officially have telepathic skills, there is _no _way you could have known that." Prentiss laughed.

"Seriously, Emily, haven't you realized by now: Reid knows everything." Morgan stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Back on track, come on." Hotch interrupted, cutting across Reid's retort. "You came to me earlier asking about this Anderson guy, so Reid, tell me - what do you know about him?"

"Gerard Anderson was born in California, and was raised by a well-off family. He went to Caltech, and has a PhD in Medicine, as well as majors in Biology and Biochemistry." Reid rattled off, after a moment's hesitation. Prentiss gazed at him in concern, but didn't verbalize her queries. "He aced all of his classes, and graduated with a high distinction. This made him stand out, and he was hired by Fort Detrick to work in their infectious disease unit shortly thereafter."

"It said in his personal file that he's worked his way up to the top, and was until recently working with some of the most advanced and lethal samples held at the facility." Prentiss added, reading off the file in her hand.

Morgan shrugged.

"If I'd worked some place my whole career, and was then fired, I'd be pretty angry, too." he commented.

"Angry enough to steal samples of an extremely dangerous virus?" JJ questioned doubtfully. "He'd need to risk his reputation, not to mention serving a serious amount of jail time, just to get in and steal what he wanted. He'd need to have an idea of who to use the strain on prior to the whole incident. Is there anything in his file about problems with other staff members, or anyone else, for that matter?"

"No, not anyone in particular." Prentiss replied, shaking her head and scanning the page. "He just seems to pick a fight with anyone who he deems has insulted him. And that's just about everyone in the state, by the looks of things."

"Hold up, guys, there's a problem with all this." Garcia said suddenly. "This is all implying that he stole the samples himself, but JJ and I have been going through their CCTV of the night of the break-in and there's nothing suspicious. No one entered who shouldn't have. No samples were even detected as being taken. It was only when some of the researchers in the lab went to get the samples out for testing the next day that anyone noticed they were gone."

"He must have hacked their computer systems." Rossi stated instantly. "Things don't just disappear like that."

"No, _someone_ must have hacked their systems." Garcia corrected him. "Someone very capable, I might add. Their network is one of the most secure I've ever seen, and I spent most of my teenage years hacking into government databases. Only a professional could have done a job like that."

"This is indicating more than one person acting." Hotch pointed out. "There was Anderson, who had the motive and knowledge of the facility, as well as someone with enough computing ability to hack one of the world's most secure military databases. We're looking at an accomplice, or even more than one."

"I've got another problem: if Anderson was the one who issued the tip-off that the UnSub was planning to modify the strain, then why did he present himself to the authorities in such an obvious way? Surely he knew that he'd be viewed as a suspect." Morgan asked in confusion.

"He doesn't get along with others, he's accusatory, he has anger issues. These are all aggressive narcissistic tendencies." Rossi answered in his slow, smooth fashion. "Anderson might have been acting as an onlooker in a gesture of superiority - he may have thought that he was more intelligent than the other Fort Detrick staff, as well as the police involved in the investigation, therefore reassuring his deluded personal ideals."

"Not only is he an aggressive narcissist, but he's fanatic as well." Hotch concluded. "He may be trying to fight delusions of insignificance by formulating grandiose fantasies and self-reinforcement. Seeing as he was seemingly so unpopular in the workplace, it appears that his lack of recognition from others has led him to acting in a role he deems as heroic, in this case as someone who is helping the police solve a serious crime."

"He appears paranoid, leading to his effective secrecy in committing the robbery, and yet he had at least one accomplice." Prentiss queried. "That doesn't add up."

"It would if the accomplice was someone he trusted." Rossi suggested. "Perhaps a childhood friend, or a family member."

"Great work, everyone, so let's wrap this up. Garcia, where is Anderson at the moment?" Hotch asked, glancing expectantly at her.

"He is..." Garcia said, her fingers flying at the speed of light across her laptop keyboard. "Conveniently, in Washington DC. He flew out here and booked into a hotel three days ago. The address has been sent through to your tablets."

"Excellent, JJ and I can head over to DC and find Anderson. Morgan, Prentiss, I don't think there'll be much left for you in Maryland, you can fly straight back here. Rossi, you keep going through the archives, I want to know about where Anderson's past problems lie and where he might be planning on attacking. Garcia and Reid, you look into this mystery accomplice." Hotch rattled off, looking at each member of the team in turn and getting the all-clear. "Is that fine? Alright, let's go."

Reid was frowning deeply as the webcam was switched off, and the rest of the team filed out of the conference room. He looked so obviously displeased that Hotch approached him.

"Reid, is everything alright?" he asked, still nurturing the concerned voice from earlier that day.

"It's too simple." Reid stated quietly. "All the evidence is pointing to Anderson, but I just don't think it's him."

Hotch sighed.

"Reid, people change." he said calmly, almost reassuringly. "The Anderson you remember might not be the same as the one today-"

"The Anderson I knew wasn't an aggressive narcissist." Reid snapped impatiently.

"Please, Reid, let's just follow the case." Hotch pleaded. "At the moment, it's leading to Anderson, but something may well come up that takes him off the suspects list."

Reid nodded, left the room, and went to look for Garcia. Characteristically, she was in the corridor outside, peering anxiously after him.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, evidently worried. He nodded in response, and followed her down the corridor to her windowless office, of which he always considered to be more of a "den" than a workspace. He was instantly blinded by the light of several computer monitors. He rubbed his eyes painfully.

"Garcia, can you turn that screen brightness down a bit?" he asked in a strained voice. "It's giving me a killer headache already."

"Oh, sure thing, sorry." Garcia apologized, adjusting the screens to a less blinding light level. "Okay, so where should we start?"

"How about family - does he have any, firstly, and secondly, are any particularly computer savvy?"

"They're going to need to be more than just savvy." Garcia said, laughing lightly. "That's no piece of cake, breaking into a secure military database. But here we go..."

Reid sat down in a chair beside Garcia's, and watched her fingers fly across the keyboard. All the while she muttered to herself.

"Immediate family... okay, not applicable, so let's extend the search to wider relations..." she murmured quietly, scanning the screen in front of her. "Hmm, perhaps not... alright, how about friends, schoolmates, no, no, nothing... Reid, any ideas?"

"Can you run a search of Caltech graduates from all of his classes?" Reid asked. " And his professors, too?"

"Can birds fly and fish swim?" Garcia replied with a grin, immediately strumming the keyboard rapidly. "Okay, there's a few hundred names here, so let me just narrow down the search a little - wait, Reid, you're on here!"

Reid gave her a weak smile.

"It says here you were with him in biochemistry at Caltech!" she gasped, reading the information on the screen with horror.

"I sat in on a few biochemistry lectures when I was doing my PhD." he sat quietly. "I was friends with Anderson."

"Reid, why didn't you tell Hotch?" Garcia exclaimed angrily.

"Because it's just a coincidence." he responded monotonously. "Hundreds of other people graduated alongside Anderson, it's mere chance that I was one of them."

"You know that's not true." she said, frowning deeply. "Aren't you the one who's always saying 'there's no such thing as coincidence'?"

"Well, this is the one case where that's not accurate." Reid replied shortly. "Garcia, please, drop it."

"Hotch needs to know." Garcia moaned uncomfortably.

"He already does." Reid stated pointedly.

Garcia's eyes widened. "What do you mean, he already knows? Why are we on the case, then? Doesn't protocol say that if there's any personal connection to a suspect, we can't follow that case?"

"Yes, protocol does say that." Reid agreed, twiddling his thumbs to avoid looking Garcia n the eye. "And that is generally the case. But this time, we were requested by someone higher up to take the case on. Military, I'd assume, or perhaps Homeland Security. This is, predominately, so that Hotch can keep a very close eye on me. I'm a suspect, you see."

"No, that's crazy!" Garcia denied, shaking her head fiercely. "You couldn't be a-"

"Think about it, Garcia. I knew Anderson in college. I even used him as a reference for several of my chemistry papers, as a personal favor. What if he decided to call in a favor from me, by helping him break in and steal the samples?" Reid suggested. "I work for the FBI, so I know a lot about these sorts of break-ins. Not to mention, I have a history with anthrax."

"You were _infected_ with it." Garcia stated slowly. "You didn't steal it, you didn't have anything to do with it!"

"But what if I held a grudge against Fort Detrick for releasing the samples last time with such lack of concern for public security? That'd make me not only a suspect, but a very probable one." Reid said casually.

"Oh, Reid, I'm so sorry." Garcia sighed, reaching forward and pulling him into a tight hug. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nothing, except for catch who really did this." Reid said, in a tone that clearly said that their conversation was over. Suddenly his mobile phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and, seeing that the caller ID said 'Aaron Hotchner', answered.

"Hey Hotch, what's new?" he said conversationally.

"JJ and I have just arrived at Anderson's hotel room." he replied, his tone flat and serious.

"Oh, okay, and did you get him?" Reid asked.

"Not exactly." Hotch sighed. "He's dead."


	6. Chapter 5

**"Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are."**

**~ Oscar Wilde.**

"W-what?" Reid stammered. "Anderson is dead?"

"Apparently." Hotch confirmed. "JJ and I turned up to his hotel a few minutes ago. We called at the door, but there was no response. After breaking into the room we found him. Single gunshot wound to the head."

"How long ago did it happen?" Reid probed.

"I can't be certain. The coroner is due to arrive in an hour." he answered. "It could be any time within the last three days."

"Well, that rules Anderson out of our suspect pool." Reid noted. "Do you want Garcia and I to continue looking into the accomplice?"

"I don't see the point." Hotch replied. "JJ checked the body, and found two cellphones - one ordinary one, with all of his contacts, and one burner. My guess is that whoever gave him the burner cellphone was blackmailing him somehow. Maybe Anderson decided to go to the police, so they had him killed."

"That sounds probable." Reid agreed, nodding slowly. "So, in that case, how about Garcia and I look into his phone records, just in case there's someone or something that shouldn't be there, and when you get back to headquarters with the burner cell we can try and get an ID or location on the caller."

"Sounds good." Hotch said in agreement. "Oh, and Reid, sorry about earlier, you were right about Anderson's psychosis. We should have listened to you, seeing as you knew him personally."

"No, don't worry about it, it doesn't matter." Reid mumbled. "Well, good luck"

He hung up his cellphone and turned to Garcia.

"Anderson was murdered in his hotel room." he explained, tucking the phone back into his pocket.

Garcia gasped. "Oh, Reid, I'm so sorry."

"We weren't, you know, all that close... I mean, you knw how it is, we hadn't spoken in years, really..." Reid sighed.

"That may be the case, but are you alright?" Garcia asked in concern.

"I'm fine." Reid replied shortly. "Except, that is, for those damn computers giving me a killer of a headache. Can't you turn down the brightness?"

"Sorry, they're already at minimum." Garcia answered apologetically. "Maybe you should go outside, get some air. I can handle this stuff by myself."

She cast a careless hand towards the computer monitors. Reid hesitated, and then, rubbing his eyes in obvious discomfort, nodded and left the room.

Reid approached his desk and sat down, at the same time picking up the case file and flicking through speedily. He had more than good enough medical knowledge to realize that he shouldn't be reading with a headache, but he couldn't stand missing out on a case that he was so personally affiliated with.

He riffled through the pages, scanning the words with almost inhuman speed, until he happened across a page of still images taken from the Fort Detrick CCTV feeds. There were shots of a main lobby, as well as endless corridors, and finally the storage room itself. Reid gazed at these absentmindedly, examining each as if for some hidden meaning.

"Hey Reid, I thought you were helping Garcia?" called Prentiss, walking in through the main entrance with Morgan close behind her.

"Oh, I had a headache from the computers." he explained briefly.

"So now you're reading instead? I thought they said you were a genius." Morgan commented, eyebrows raised as he walked across the room and dropped a large stack of files onto his desk with a groan of relief.

"What are all those?" Reid asked cluelessly.

"Personal files of the researchers from the facility." Morgan explained, collapsing into his chair with exhaustion.

"I thought there were only four current researchers?" asked Reid incredulously.

"There are." Prentiss laughed. "Apparently they take security seriously at Fort Detrick."

"I can see that!" Reid agreed, holding up the CCTV printouts.

"Can I check those out?" Morgan asked, dashing over and snatching the papers out of his hands. Reid made a noise of discontentment, but Morgan had an oddly satisfied look on his face that required explanation first.

"What?" Reid said impatiently. "What's up?"

"These images, here," Morgan explained, showing Reid and pointing out the corresponding pictures. "Look at the time stamps."

Reid squinted, and at first saw nothing odd. But on closer inspection, he noticed a vital detail that didn't match up.

"The dates are wrong!" he exclaimed in surprise. "That's the date of the day before the robbery."

"They must have replaced the footage from the robbery with the previous day's feed. That way the times would match up, and hopefully we'd overlook the dates." Prentiss observed, nodding in an impressed sort of way. "Nice work, Morgan."

Morgan grinned and snatched the papers off Reid again.

"I'd better get these to Garcia, maybe she can hunt down the real footage." he said, dashing speedily off to her office.

"Wait, I'll come!" Reid interjected, standing up hastily but then almost immediately falling over.

"Spencer, are you alright?" Prentiss shrieked, hurrying over to him. Reid was sprawled on the ground, looking extremely disorientated.

"Yeah, I'm, er, I just..." he babbled, his eyes unfocused. "I just felt dizzy all of a sudden."

He slowly got to his feet, using the desk and Prentiss's arm as support.

"Spencer, are you okay?" she asked, sitting him back down in his chair. "Lately you've been a little worse for wear."

"What? No, I'm fine." Reid said dismissively, and in an entirely non-convincing way.

"Maybe you should see a doctor." Prentiss suggested.

"A doctor? No, no, I don't need a doctor." he disagreed casually. "I know just as much about medicine as any-"

"But you're too biased to properly diagnose yourself." Prentiss cut in, giving Reid a solemn look. "Seriously, Reid, you need to see someone and get some help before whatever this is gets worse."

"There's nothing any doctor can do to stop this." Reid muttered quietly, and Prentiss frowned deeply.

"Reid, you tell me this instant what is wrong with you-" she began threateningly, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Rossi, carrying several large archive boxes.

"Can I have a hand please, someone!" he requested in a strained voice. Prentiss hurried over and grabbed half of the boxes, at the same time giving Reid a distinct glare that clearly said: 'this discussion is not over'.

"I've been going through archives all morning, and I've found all of the threats made against bioweapon attacks within the last five years." Rossi puffed, dumping the last of the boxes onto the floor. "And as it turns out, there are quite a lot. I could do with a hand going through them, actually."

"Sure thing." Reid said immediately, but Prentiss made a tutting noise.

"Sit." she instructed him sharply. "Don't even think about it. Just take some aspirin and relax."

"What's wrong with him?" Rossi asked, somewhat amused at Prentiss's suddenly maternal attitude. Reid shook his head fiercely behind Rossi's back, mouthing the words 'no, no, no' continually.

"Oh, er, nothing really." Prentiss lied, faking a smile. "He's been complaining about a headache all day, and I'm sick of his whining."

Rossi seemed preoccupied enough to buy her feeble cover story, and began discussing the archives he'd collected.

"... most of these are just hippies threatening to infect certain industrial organizations if they keep chopping down trees and the like, but we need to find any serious threats made by parties with genuine intent to act." Rossi explained, flipping the lid off the nearest box. "So let's just dive in."

And with that Rossi grabbed out a folder, flicked it open and began to read. Prentiss gave Reid one more meaningful, concerned look, before following suit. Reid watched them for a few minutes, before popping his feet up onto the desk and leaning back comfortably in his chair. He had to struggle to keep his eyes open, but he resisted the temptation by picturing the look on Hotch's face if he saw him asleep on the job. At that, Reid had to smirk.

About half an hour later Reid managed to convince Prentiss that his head was fine, and that he could start helping her and Rossi in going through the files. This was slow, laborious work, but required sharp concentration; so much so, in fact, that they didn't even notice the sun setting outside their window.

The night steadily wore on, unobserved by any of the team. It wasn't until Hotch arrived back from Washington that they finally put down their folders.

"What are you all doing here?" Hotch enquired, eyebrows raised at the multitude of archive boxes.

"Sorting through all of the bioweapon threats made within the last five years." Prentiss explained, grabbing a fresh file out of one of the boxes.

"Great work, but you can head home now." Hotch said, staring out the window. "It's late. Very late."

"But Hotch, we've made loads of progress-" Reid protested, before being cut off by Hotch.

"And you can continue tomorrow." he interrupted. "Go get some sleep."

Reid thought about arguing, but then realized just how long he'd been at work for, and the exhaustion hit him suddenly. He helped Rossi and Prentiss pack up the files back into their boxes, before catching the elevator down to the parking lot. He jumped into his car, and for the second time that day had to struggle to keep his eyes open.

Never before had Reid been more glad to live close to his workplace. As soon as he stepped in the door of his apartment he dumped his bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, asleep within seconds.


	7. Chapter 6

"_**There's no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another." **_

_**~ E.B. White**_

When Reid awoke the next morning it was still dark outside, yet despite the fact that he had barely slept, he dressed hastily for work. Within ten minutes he was ready and out the door of his apartment, half-running across the parking lot to his car.

There really was no need for the rush, but Reid felt a sudden motivation to close this case. He knew how it felt to be trapped in a hospital ward, with a disease that was both deadly and incurable. He hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't come to that.

The roads were clear (due no doubt to the ridiculous hour), and soon Reid was pulling up to the Quantico FBI headquarters. He headed straight down to archives to pick up their files from the previous day, and caught the elevator alone up to the BAU's floor.

"Reid, what are you doing here so early?" Morgan asked, astounded, as he spotted Reid marching up the corridor, arms laden with boxes.

"I might ask you the same question." Reid replied, using his shoulder to push open the glass doors into the main office.

"Oh, it was pretty late last night and I didn't want to drive home, so I crashed on the couch." he answered, following Reid into the office space. "Well, how about you?"

"I woke up." Reid said plainly, as he dumped the boxes heavily onto his desk and began emptying them of their contents. "So, what did Garcia say about those CCTV videos?"

"She said it was pretty ingenious, and that it'd take a real whiz at computers to be able to replace the footage without leaving a trace." Morgan replied, collapsing back into his chair. "She started trying to recover the original footage, but didn't make a break. I assume she'll continue today."

"Sounds good." Reid commented shortly, finally finishing the unpacking. He made a quick detour to the coffee machine, before returning to his desk and starting where he had left off yesterday on a file of bioweapon threats.

"Want a hand?" Morgan asked, sitting by awkwardly and watching Reid scan the pages with inhuman speed.

"Many hands make light work." Reid replied, throwing him a stack of papers without looking up from his own. Morgan made a lunge to grab the wayward pass, and caught in his fingertips.

"Didn't take gym class at school?" he mused teasingly, but Reid was too engulfed in his work to take any notice. Morgan sighed (always dismayed at a missed opportunity to wind Reid up), and began reading through the stack of paperwork.

With Reid's insane reading speed and Morgan's assistance, the pair of them had sorted through all of the files by the time the others arrived at the office. Hotch made a beeline for them as soon as he entered.

"Any progress?" he asked, glancing at the neat stacks of files.

"A bit." Reid replied. "We've sorted through all of the bioweapon threats Rossi found from archives. A lot were bogus, but there's a lot that aren't. Without more information on the UnSub I'm afraid there's not much more we can do, at the moment at least."

"I'll see what I can find." Hotch commented, making his way towards his own office. "Oh, and JJ has the results of the forensics testing from Anderson's hotel room, so you might have some luck there."

JJ immediately approached the others, handing over a few additional pages of paperwork.

"Here is the full forensics report." she explained. "But I'll save you some time and give you the rundown. Basically, the only DNA found in the hotel room belonged to Anderson. The bullet was a 9mm, so that hardly narrows down the suspect pool. Hotch and I spoke to some of the staff at the hotel, but none saw anything out of place. Same story for other guests, so we can assume the killer used a silencer. All in all, it looks like we're dealing a professional."

"Terrific." Morgan groaned. "No evidence, and a professional hitman."

"Look at it this way, though: there was no sign of a struggle, so Anderson probably knew the murderer and let him in to the room." Reid pointed out. "If we keep looking into his personal background and recent correspondences, someone is sure to come up."

"Thank you, Reid." JJ said firmly, glaring at Morgan. Reid held back a smirk.

"You can take this to Garcia." added JJ, throwing a cell phone in an evidence bag across to Morgan. "We found it in the apartment. Looks like a burner cell, but we haven't had much of a look at it yet, so we can't be sure."

Morgan got to his feet and left the office immediately, followed soon after by JJ. This left Reid alone and, once again, free to examine whichever area of the case he desired. There was much to be done; Anderson's recent correspondences needed to be examined, and his whereabouts and reasonings in the days leading up to his murder needed to be explored thoroughly.

In the end, the arrival of Prentiss made up Reid's mind for him.

"Hey, Reid, are you busy?" she asked, bustling into the office with a coffee in one hand and a case file in the other.

"No, not desperately." he replied honestly.

"Good, then you can help me." Prentiss requested. "Hotch received some information about the robbery itself, and I could do with some bioweapons know-how."

"Well, lucky I have a bit of 'bioweapons know-how', so hopefully I can lend a hand." Reid chuckled. "So, what do we know?"

"Not as much as we'd like to." she replied, flicking open the file and reading from it. "The forensics unit has finally finished at the crime scene, and have confirmed that the DNA evidence found is all Anderson's. I assume the CCTV wipe was just a half-hearted cover-up attempt, because no effort seems to have been made to hide the fact that Dr. Anderson was behind it. His fingerprints were all over the sample's storage room."

"It's all too easy." Reid said, frowning and shaking his head. "Anderson had no known quarrels with anyone in particular, and I assure you, he was smart enough to know how to hide DNA evidence."

"No quarrels? But didn't Hotch say he was fired because of aggravated attacks at other staff members?" Prentiss questioned.

"Aggravated _verbal_ attacks." Reid corrected. "Yes, that is true, but I don't think it was entirely his fault. Anderson's murder was done professionally. What if Anderson was being blackmailed?"

"That would explain why he was suddenly tense at work." Prentiss agreed thoughtfully.

"Exactly. Plus, Anderson had no reason to steal those anthrax samples. His financial records were steady, and he had no major opposition to any political parties or the like. He was a straight-shooter." Reid reasoned.

"But who was behind the blackmail?" Prentiss pondered. "And why did they choose _anthrax, _of all things?"

"As for the first question, I have no clue." Reid said. "But I can give you a bit more about the second one. Anthrax is spread by spores, which can travel not only from person to person but also via clothing. Once the spores are released they can remain in an environment for extended periods of time. Anthrax can be produced _in vitro _- in other words, in a test tube - which allows convenient access and makes it easy to transport. It's a very good choice, as far as bioweapons go: dangerous and easily obtainable."

"But I thought anthrax had vaccines, and antibiotics." Prentiss queried.

"_That_ is the most ingenious part of the whole plan." Reid said theatrically. "See, there are vaccines, yes, but they aren't very widespread. Only a minute percentage of the population can be bothered being immunized against something as rare and abstract as anthrax. There are also multiple strains, each requiring a different type of antibiotic to cure them. But speed is vital in the distribution of these antibiotics, and by the time the correct strain is identified and the applicable treatment given, it is often too late."

"So this was well-planned." Prentiss sighed.

"It would appear so." Reid commented dejectedly.

"Reid, tell me: is there any black market trade in these types of viruses?" asked Prentiss suddenly.

Reid shook his head. "Not really. Occasionally, items will change hands, but there is no continual trade as with weapons or drugs. These strains can be far, far more dangerous, and a lot more difficult to hide from the eyes of police and customs officials."

"Okay, so that rules out my idea." Prentiss commented. "How about you? Any ideas for what they might want with the samples?"

"Several, but all are equally unlikely." Reid replied, standing up and pacing back and forth. "Okay, so let's think about this thoroughly. Just say that Anderson was being blackmailed - why him, and what were the terms of the negotiations?"

"How about 'steal it, or die?'" Prentiss replied half-heartedly. The sarcasm went right over Reid's head, and he continued pacing.

"No, no, I don't think so." he said regardfully. "If that were the case, they probably would have beaten him up a bit, just to show him that they were serious. The body was unharmed. I think that Anderson was being forced to steal the samples for emotional or psychological reasons. Perhaps the blackmailer threatened to hurt someone close to him, and he thought had no choice."

"I'll look into his personal files again." Prentiss offered. "There's no family listed, but maybe he was in a relationship that isn't on file."

"Good idea." Reid confirmed. "And I'll just... Well, I'll find something to do."

Prentiss shrugged in casual agreement, before walking off, talking the file with her. Upon being left alone, Reid decided to go and check on Morgan and Garcia, and see how they were doing in recovering the hidden CCTV footage.

"Any luck so far?" Reid asked, pushing his way into Garcia's dark, computer-packed office.

"No luck required, when we have such skill at hand." Garcia responded instantly, with a grin. "I've managed to uncover the video footage of the break-in, though, if that was what you meant. Here, check it out."

She clicked a few buttons and strummed the keyboard briefly, before a video feed appeared on the monitor.

"What I don't understand is why he bothered to hide the footage, when he didn't even wear a mask for the robbery." Morgan wondered.

"Because he was being blackmailed." Reid answered instantly. "Look at his face. He looks..._ afraid._"

He was undeniably correct. Anderson's face, clearly observable in the video feed, displayed a look of mingled nervousness and fear. The three agents watched on as Anderson made his way down the corridors, into the secure storage room, and back out.

"Blackmailed, you said?" Morgan said quizzically. "What for, and by who?"

"I was hoping you could help me work that out, actually." he replied swiftly. "Garcia, can you run a search for any close friends of Anderson's? I want to know if he was in a relationship recently."

"Your enquiry is being examined." Garcia said slowly, whilst she tapped away at the keyboard. "And... yes, this looks like it. There's a number on the burner cell from the hotel room that matches one from Anderson's everyday phone. The caller ID has it listed as one Pauline Mason."

"Any background information on her?" Morgan pressed eagerly.

"Let me see, let me see." Garcia muttered, typing rapidly. "Says here she went to the University of Virginia, and majored in medicine and biology."

"Anderson sometimes gave promotional lectures for Fort Detrick at the University of Virginia, particularly aimed at biology and medical students." Reid interjected. "I think she's our girl. Do you have an address?"

"Yes, I've got a family home address, but it won't be of much help, I'm afraid. Mason was reported missing two weeks ago." Garcia read out, the disappointment evident in her voice.

Reid exhaled a long, exhausted sigh.

"Stolen bioweapons, terrorist threats, a murder, and now apparently kidnapping and blackmail. Can this case _possibly _get any more complicated?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head in consternation.


	8. Chapter 7

_**"Suspicion is the companion of mean souls, and the bane of all good society."**_

_**~ Thomas Paine**_

"A _kidnapping_? What?" Hotch exclaimed in shock. "Reid, what do you mean?"

"Anderson was being blackmailed. His girlfriend, Pauline Mason, was reported missing two weeks ago, just shortly before the robbery." Reid explained quickly, stepping into his boss' office to inform him about the new discovery on the anthrax case.

"Okay." Hotch said absentmindedly, running his hands through his hair whilst trying to string all of the information together. "So Anderson stole the samples because he was being blackmailed, but what we need to know is by who, and why?"

"Garcia is going through the burner phone as we speak." Reid added. "But it's probably a dead end. It seems like we're dealing with professionals here."

"Well, it's worth a shot." Hotch shrugged. "In the meantime, I'll send Rossi and JJ out to speak to the girlfriend's family. Maybe they noticed someone stalking her, and can give us some more information to go on."

"Good idea." Reid agreed. "In the meantime, Prentiss, Morgan and I should look into these allusive blackmailers. Someone is holding a grudge - we just need to work out who, and who against."

"Sure thing." Hotch confirmed. "Thanks for the update, Reid."

And within moments he had dashed from the office back down to his work station.

"What did Hotch say?" Morgan asked without hesitation, approaching Reid expectantly.

"We're to look into Anderson's murderer and blackmailer." he answered, coming to an ungainly halt in front of him.

"Excellent." Morgan said, clapping his hands together. "So, what do we have so far?

"Nothing." Reid replied succinctly.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? Come on, Reid, that's hardly going to get us anywhere."

"It's the truth, though - no forensic evidence was found at the scene." he explained. "All we have is that burner phone that you took to Garcia."

"Then let's go and see if she's found anything." Morgan suggested, standing up. Reid followed after him with an ungainly trot.

"What have you found for me, baby girl?" Morgan asked, throwing the office door open and stepping into the dimly lit room.

"What makes you think I've found anything?" Garcia teased, swiveling to face them with a grin.

"I have great faith in my girl." he replied, peering over her shoulder at the monitors.

"Clever boy." she said approvingly. "Because I've managed to decode the encrypted caller history. All of the calls were from Anderson's girlfriend, Pauline Mason. Her cell phone, JJ informed me, disappeared when Pauline did, and presumably was how the blackmailers came into contact with our guy."

"Great work." Reid interjected, moving close to read the small print on the screen.

"Unfortunately, GPS was disabled, so I can't get a location. _But_ I can track down the call itself, so we can hear exactly what was said by both parties." Garcia commentated, strumming the keyboard robotically and bringing up a stream of numbers onto the monitor. "As you can see, it's taken a bit of work to uncover, but I've finally managed to track it down, and... Voila!"

An audio file appeared suddenly in the screen. She clicked the file, and the call began to play.

"Pauline? _Pauline, are you alright?"_ stammered the distressed voice of Anderson.

"She has not been harmed... yet." replied a cold male voice. "But if you refuse to cooperate, she will be killed immediately."

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked desperately. "Please, don't hurt her, she hasn't done anything, she hasn't-"

"I am someone with a grudge to settle, let's leave it at that." the man interrupted. "What I want is something that only you can get me. A virus sample."

"W-what?" stuttered Anderson. "A v-virus? You must have the wrong-"

"You are Dr. Gerard Anderson, of the Infectious Disease Unit at Fort Detrick?" questioned the man icily.

"Y-yes, I am." answered Anderson anxiously.

"Then we do not have the wrong person." stated the speaker firmly. "I need a sample from the facility, and you are going to steal it for me. If you do not comply, your girlfriend dies. If you go to the police, or any government organization, she dies. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, please, just don't hurt her." Anderson moaned. "What do you need? And how will I find you?"

"I need _bacillus anthracis. _Anthrax." the man responded. "You will not find us. We will find you. We will contact you with instructions, and you will follow them."

There was a click, and the call ended.

"Poor guy." Garcia sighed. "Having to steal a deadly virus to save his girlfriend's life."

"It's pretty horrible." Morgan agreed. "But the call told us a lot, at least. Firstly, it seems like Anderson had been contacted by the blackmailers prior to this call, probably on his personal cell phone."

"The UnSub said that he had 'a grudge to settle'." Reid stated. "So we know that they have a precisely defined target. We just don't know what that is yet."

"Our mystery man seems to know his stuff. I mean, he could have asked for any virus, but instead he chose the most deadly and contagious one." Morgan pointed out. "And I don't believe in coincidences."

"You're right, it does indicate that our UnSub had prior experience with the disease." Reid agreed. "That might help narrow down the suspect pool. Garcia, can you run a search and see if any audio files match the mystery man's voice? We could get lucky and find a name."

"I am _so _onto it." Garcia replied, hands beginning to fly across the keyboard. "I'll do a search of our database, and then check out the web if I have to."

"Perfect." Reid affirmed. "Morgan, if you wanted to help Garcia, that'd be great. I just want to check something."

Morgan nodded, and Reid stood and exited the cramped office. Instantly, he headed back towards his desk, where the neatly stacked piles of folders stood from his and Morgan's early morning sorting efforts.

He approached the desk and began flicking through the folders hastily. Final,y finding the desired one, he fished it out of the stack and flicked it open, eyes scanning the print searchingly.

"Boo." said a voice suddenly from just behind him, making Reid jump out of his skin in surprise and drop the folder that had been in his hand. He spun around to see an amused Prentiss peering at him.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." she laughed, grinning at his reaction. She bent down to pick up the folder, and glanced at it with surprise. "These, again? I thought you were done with all the crazy bioweapon threats."

"I had a brainwave." Reid replied, a little defensively, snatching the folder out of her hands.

"Okay, boy genius, and was it accurate?" Prentiss asked conversationally.

"I believe so..." Reid replied vaguely.

Prentiss raised her eyebrows. "Care to elaborate?"

"I suppose so." Reid answered reluctantly. "Well, Garcia managed to track down the call history from the burner phone. What I found most strange about the call was that the blackmailer asked for the anthrax samples _specifically. _Out of the thousands of viruses at Fort Detrick, he chose the deadliest, the most contagious. He must have had some knowledge about the disease previous to kidnapping Anderson's girlfriend. Or perhaps, as I believe is more likely, he had a personal history with anthrax."

"The blackmailer said that he had 'a grudge to settle'. Both of those factors together made me think back to one of the files I read. This one." he said, holding up the file. "It was one of the only threats that mentioned anthrax specifically, as opposed to just a general bioweapon."

"And? Who was it that made the threats?" she prompted impatiently.

"It isn't that simple. The threat was anonymous." Reid replied, glancing down at the folder thoughtfully. "But what concerned me more was the _target_. And yet... I'm not sure if my concept is a valid one. I am not an impartial judge."

Reid turned away from her, and Prentiss rolled her eyes. Sensing that he was not going to stop talking in riddles any time soon, she decided to pursue another line of questioning that had been nagging at her subconscious.

"Reid... what's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong." he answered immediately, turning back to her with a frown.

"Yes, there is. You've been acting strange lately, Reid. Skittish, jumpy." Prentiss insisted. "Not to mention the physical problems - headaches, dizziness, sensitivity to light..."

"I'm, er, working on that." Reid muttered, turning away from her.

"What's so bad that you can't tell _me?"_ Prentiss asked in concern. "I thought you trusted me more than this."

"I do, Emily, but this is out of both of our hands. Even I can't change genetics." he said to himself, but Prentiss gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh no, Reid, no, don't tell me..." she whispered in sudden realization, brown eyes peering up at him in anguish.

"What?" Reid questioned, feigning ignorance.

"The symptoms, the change in character..." Prentiss muttered wildly. "The 'even I can't change genetics' comment... Reid, are you developing your mother's condition?"

Reid's face fell into forlorn, and he stared determinedly at his shoes. Finally, he gazed upwards and met her eyes.

"Yes, Emily." he said softly. "I am developing paranoid schizophrenia. I am, quite literally, losing myself."

"Oh, Reid, I'm so sorry." she sighed, stepping towards him and grabbing his arm reassuringly.

"Don't be." he muttered, shaking her off. "But we can't talk about this now. We are all in danger."

"What?" Prentiss asked, shaking her head in confusion. "How are we in danger?"

"The threat." Reid moaned, holding up the file. "The threat was made against the BAU. They're coming after us."


	9. Chapter 8

"_**I know a secret, and secrets breed paranoia."**_

_**~ Simon Holt**_

"Spencer, are you sure-" Prentiss began in immediate concern.

"Of course I'm not _sure_, how could I be?" Reid snapped, his tone unusually brusque.

"I meant, is it just your... condition," she uttered the word hesitantly and cautiously. "that makes you think we're being targeted?"

"Yes. Or no. Maybe." Reid babbled. "I can't be certain, Emily. I can't be certain of anything anymore. But the evidence seems to point to it, and by all my logic... Then again, this is _paranoid _schizophrenia we're talking about."

He laughed cynically, without a hint of humor.

"Should we tell Hotch?" Prentiss asked. "If we really are being targeted for the attack, he needs to know."

"_Should _we tell him? Yes, without question. But can we?" Reid interjected. "If I tell him, he'll immediately think I'm paranoid. And that, combined with all of my other symptoms that he's no doubt noticed recently, will bring him to the single, simplistic solution: that I've developed my mother's condition. He'll put two and two together, Emily, and he'll find out the truth."

"But the team will be in danger." Emily protested. "Think of what Henry and Will would go through if JJ were hurt, or what any of the others' families' reactions would be. You can't just let the situation pan out, Reid."

"Emily, you know the rules as well as I do." he muttered quietly. "If Hotch finds out that I have a mental illness, he'll have no choice but to fire me. It's protocol."

"Hotch doesn't follow protocol; protocol follows Hotch." Prentiss said in mock seriousness.

"Seriously, Emily, I can't let him find out. This job is all I have. The people in this team are the only ones that have been there for me, throughout every facet of my intensely flawed life. Hotch _cannot _find out." Reid said desperately.

Prentiss sighed, but nodded slowly.

"I won't tell him." she promised. "I'll try to keep this hidden from the others, but if any of them are in danger..."

"You have my absolute permission to do whatever necessary in order to keep them safe." Reid finished. "Thank you, Emily."

Prentiss shrugged lightly, giving Reid one last surveying look before she turned and walked away. He took a deep breath, before following her out of the glass doors and long the corridor to Garcia's office.

"Any luck?" he asked, entering and approaching the monitors where Morgan and Garcia sat, stooped over the screen.

"Yes, a lot." Garcia replied brightly. "Firstly, we ran all our information through the database, about people with backgrounds in anthrax and all that, but the search was too vague. Nothing came up. But then we managed to track the cell phone the blackmailer used to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of DC."

"Terrific." Reid said, clapping his hands together. "I reckon Hotch and Rossi will want to check out the address. They've got the most experience in hostage negotiation, in vae something goes wrong and they need to bargain for Anderson's girlfriend."

"Good idea, I'll go tell him." Morgan volunteered, standing and promptly exiting the room.

"Okay, what else?" Reid inquired.

"Not very much. We don't really have enough information for a personal search." Garcia answered. "There's a surprisingly large amount of people who have had experience with anthrax. We need more details before we can get any decent results."

"Then we wait." Reid stated, leaning back in his chair and gazing at the ceiling thoughtfully. "We wait."

An hour or so later, Hotch and Rossi were on the freeway, headed promptly towards the address Garcia had sent to their tablets.

"This case is very strange." Rossi commented conversationally. "For one thing, we all have a personal connection with the case, Reid especially. Isn't that _precisely _the reason one does not give it to our unit? Homeland Security should have taken care of it."

"I agree, but the matter was out of my hands. The case was forced onto us by people much higher up in the FBI than I have jurisdiction to deny." Hotch replied. "But I think it was a bad idea. We just don't have experience with this type of case. As for Reid... it's too much pressure for him, I think."

"He's a tough kid, he'll handle it." Rossi said immediately, but Hotch shifted uneasily in his seat.

"I'm not so sure." he muttered.

The conversation was cut short by their arrival at the warehouse. The graffiti-covered walls were crumbling and derelict, and the chunks of rusted metal scattered around the premises were obvious signs that it was unused.

"Nice place." Rossi said, raising his eyebrows. "What's the story with this place?"

"It was owned by a metalwork company that went bankrupt a few years back." Hotch replied, cutting the engine and stepping out of the car. "Since then, no one has been interested in buying it."

Rossi followed Hotch to the chainwire fence, where he was closely examining the gate.

"The lock is broken." he said, holding it up as obvious evidence of invasion. "This is definitely the place."

Hotch crept up to the warehouse, silently drawing out his gun as he approached the door. Rossi did the same, filing in wordlessly behind him. He kicked open the door with a shuddering creak, slipping inside with practiced precision.

Hotch's eyes immediately fell upon the only piece of furniture in the huge space: a chair in the far corner, tied to it a women he recognized from the files Reid had shown him to be Pauline Mason. He and Rossi ran across to her, their footsteps echoing in the empty, cavernous space.

Within seconds they had cut her loose, and the moment they had removed the gag over her mouth she flooded them with questions.

"Where is he? Is he okay? Is Gerard okay?" she asked pleadingly.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged a pitiful look.

"Pauline, I'm so sorry, but we found Gerard murdered in a hotel room yesterday." Rossi said delicately.

The woman gave a strangled cry, and began to sob inconsolably. Rossi murmured comfortingly to her, staring blankly at Hotch.

"I know this is a big shock for you, but you could save a lot of people it you tell us everything you know about the person who kidnapped you." Hotch requested.

Pauline stifled a sob and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"I don't know who it was. I'd never met the man before." she said shakily. "I was taking a walk, when all of a sudden a van pulled over. A man got out and told me to get inside. He had a gun..."

"Did you see his face?" Rossi probed gently.

She shook her head. "He had a mask. He never took it off."

After a few more minutes of careful questioning, the two agents had extracted all the information they needed from her. Hotch dialed for an ambulance whilst Rossi made a few last inquiries.

"Did the man say anything about why he wanted Gerard to steal the samples?" he asked with slow caution.

"Not specifically, but he said something about wanting to settle a grudge. The way he said it made it sound personal, something to do with a friend or family member." she answered weakly. "But tell me: did the man who killed Gerard get the samples?"

"Yes." Rossi sighed desolately. "Unfortunately, he did manage to acquire them."

She shook her head. "Then someone is in a lot of danger. Will you catch them?"

"We'll try our best." he vowed, escorting Pauline outside at the sound of the ambulance arriving.

As soon as the paramedics had taken charge of her, Hotch and Rossi got back into their car, and were speeding back towards headquarters. Both men were silent, each searching desperately in their minds for some detail that would link up all the evidence. But an epiphany came to neither, and it seemed just seconds before they were in the elevator heading for the BAU offices.

Immediately, the rest of the team were at their sides, bombarding them both with questions.

"Let's call a briefing." Hotch said loudly, and the talk died down instantly as they filed into the meeting room. Once everyone was seated and gazing expectantly at him, he began to speak.

"Well, thanks for Garcia we tracked down the warehouse where Pauline Mason was being held captive. She was taken by a masked male kidnapper. As far as we know so far, he is working alone. Some evidence also leads to us thinking that he is getting revenge of sorts, for some personal problem involving anthrax."

"Later I can try narrowing down our suspect search to accommodate that information." Garcia suggested.

"Good." Hotch agreed. "Reid, any luck with the bioweapon threat files yet?"

"Nothing definitive." he answered, his eyes meeting Prentiss' with a look of guilt.

"Okay, well, keep looking. Something might come up." Hotch responded, the disappointment evident in his voice. "JJ, what have you got for us?"

"While you guys were all busy, I was doing some research into how the UnSub might use anthrax in an attack. I found out that the strains used for research are designed, unless stored in the correct facilities and under strict conditional requirements, will expire quite quickly. We're looking at a window of about a week in which the attack could occur." JJ explained.

"That doesn't give us much time." Morgan said, frowning. "This guy could be planning an attack as we speak, and we don't even know the target yet!"

Prentiss stared pointedly at Reid, giving him a fierce glare that went unnoticed by the others.

"There's nothing we can do about that." Hotch responded. "But you're right, it doesn't give us much time. We need to alert all major transportation companies and government organizations. Prentiss, Morgan, you call them up and explain the situation. Tell them to be on alert."

The pair stood and left the conference room, Prentiss still glaring severely at Reid.

"Okay, Rossi and Garcia, you can go run that search using the new information we've got. Come straight to me if anything comes up." Hotch directed them. "JJ, you can continue your research, and Reid, going through those files."

"Morgan and I finished those off this morning." Reid interjected.

"In that case, you can, er... Well, I'll leave it up to you to decide. You're our resident genius, after all." he said, shrugging. "Alright, back to work."

Hotch dashed to the door, followed by the JJ, Rossi, Garcia, and finally Reid. He walked slowly across to his desk, and fell back into his chair, guilt gnawing at his stomach. His eyes flickered to the folder on the top of the pile, and he relayed the contents continually through his mind, uncertainty nagging at his thoughts.

Was it merely paranoia that brought the ideas of the BAU being targeted to the forefront of his mind? Had he lost every scrap of logic he had once possessed to an incurable and increasingly debilitating illness?

He ran his fingers through his hair in restlessness, unable to shake from his mind the image he had conjured of the team, dead, through his own errors.


	10. Chapter 9

"_**From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork."**_

**~ J.K. Rowling**

Tormented by guilt and uncertainty, Reid found it difficult to feign work that afternoon. Never before had he _known _the result of a case, but had to continue looking into it aimlessly, and he found the practice extremely difficult.

After riffling unconvincingly through the folders yet another time, he decided firmly that he needed to something slightly productive - the idea of spending a whole day _pretending _to work was an entirely foreign concept, and one that he dismissed as impossible. He was used to being driven to work by the raw necessity, and was accustomed to having an overload of cases to run. Seeing as neither was the case, he settled for working out who the UnSub was, even if he already knew where he planned to attack.

Reid jumped to his feet and walked briskly to Garcia's office. As he swung open the door, he felt it collide with a large object, which let out a yell of pain.

"I'm so sorry, Rossi." Reid apologized immediately, whilst the man rubbed his arm tenderly.

"That's alright, it isn't your fault it's so crowded in here. Garcia, why don't you ask Hotch for a proper office, instead of this shoebox?" Rossi asked scathingly.

"Why don't _you _ask President Obama to increase BAU funding?" Garcia returned facetiously.

"I'll ask him at my next dinner party." Rossi answered with a smirk. "Come on in, Reid. I've always wanted to know what it felt like to be a sardine."

Reid slipped cautiously into the room, and observed the cause of the disturbance. Not only were Garcia and Rossi sandwiched inside, but JJ was also lurking in the corner. Seeing as most of the room was taken up by large binary machines, the four agents were hard pressed to fit inside the tiny space.

"Hey, Garcia, can you run me a search?" Reid called to the seated figure, hidden from view by Rossi.

"The Oracle of Virginia is overwhelmed by requests, and will be unable to process your inquiry until she is finished." Garcia replied, attacking the keyboard with unnecessary violence. "Sorry Reid, but Rossi is breathing down my neck here, and JJ needs to update her info. It shouldn't take too long, though, so-"

"I'll wait." Reid finished, settling into the most comfortable standing position possible in the limited space.

Rossi rolled his eyes at Garcia with impatience, glancing at his gold wristwatch.

"Okay, the computer is just processing our request." Garcia commented as though reading his mind, for her eyes had not left the monitor. "I've put in the extra details that we discussed at the meeting, so hopefully the more narrow search parameters will give us some useful results..."

"Or not." JJ interjected, glancing sideways at the screen, with an amused expression.

"What's wrong? Didn't it work?" Rossi asked, spinning around and craning his neck to look at the screen.

"Well, it worked to a degree. It did narrow down the suspects." Garcia answered, somewhat sheepishly. "Now we have ten thousand, instead of a hundred thousand, potential perpetrators."

Rossi sniggered. "Terrific. Thank you Garcia."

Reid shuffled towards the wall to allow Rossi to exit, and exhaled deeply as the door closed behind him, enjoying the luxury of space to breathe.

"Okay, next up is the lovely JJ. What can I do for you?" Garcia asked, turning to face the blonde-haired agent.

"Can you run a search of all major airports and docks within driving distance of DC?" she requested. "I figure, he can't fly or catch a train anywhere interstate, because he'd never make it through security, so the target must be in relatively close proximity to the warehouse."

Reid looked away, pretending to be examining a nearby hard drive to hide his sullen expression.

"I will have it done quicker than Reid solving a quadratic equation." Garcia replied brightly, tapping at the keyboard a few times. "And... Done. The list has been sent through to your tablet."

"Thanks, Garcia." JJ said gratefully, pushing past Reid to get to the door.

"Now, my lovely, what do _you _want?" Garcia asked, sighing wearily and pivoting in her chair to face him.

"Busy day, huh?" Reid replied, smiling sympathetically.

"You have no idea." she agreed tiredly. "It isn't easy, being the all-seeing eye of the BAU. But what do you need help with?"

"Suspects. I want to work out who this UnSub is." Reid replied.

"I don't understand, Rossi just came in to do the same thing." Garcia said, frowning. "You don't have any new information, do you?"

"Not as such, no, but I've got a hunch." Reid answered. "Can you bring me up with a list of victims from the most recent anthrax attacks, as well as close friends and family members?"

"I can indeed." Garcia stated with certainty. "But I'm not sure it will do us much good. It says here that the most recent attacks, the ones in Annapolis, infected twenty-five people. That's twenty-five miniature suspect pools."

"Okay, how about we cut it down to facilities. Only the victims that died from the pathogens." Reid suggested.

"We're down to twenty-one casualties." Garcia added. "Any other narrowing search parameters, boy genius?"

"Maybe if you search through newspaper articles and editorials following the Maryland incident. Look for any friends or family that responded publicly to the attacks." he offered hopefully.

"All I've got is a protest against government research into biological warfare." Garcia replied, reading the monitor with disappointment.

"Is there a picture?" Reid probed.

Garcia clicked to enlarge the image, so that a crowd of angry protestors emblazoned the screen.

"Perfect." Reid said in satisfaction. "Zoom in a little, please?"

"Sure thing." Garcia replied, shrugging. "I don't see how it will help, though. There are hundreds of people in that crowd."

"Yes, but only one leader." Reid replied, his voice quiet with concentration as he scanned the photo. "Aha! There he is."

"How do you know he's the leader?" Garcia asked, staring at the man Reid was pointing to.

"Basic body language. See how the people around him are angled towards him? He's definitely a ringleader." Reid replied. "Now, I bet if you run his face against the list of friends and family, we'll get a hit."

Garcia shrugged doubtfully, tapped at her keyboard, and rolled her eyes.

"You know, it's a little scary how accurate your 'hunches' are sometimes." she commented casually. "The face matched to the father of one of the victims. His name is Eric Scott. No record, and he was reported missing two months ago. He hasn't been seen since."

"He's been planning these attacks obsessively for a while." Reid said, nodding. "I would guess that he's suffering from a form of posttraumatic stress disorder. Does it have a career listed?"

"It does: it says he's a doctor at Oakwood Annapolis Hospital." Garcia read aloud. "He works in the microbiology department there."

Reid nodded. "He knows his stuff when it comes to infectious pathogens, then."

"Unfortunately for the general public, yes." Garcia said sadly. "Well, if you've finished with my services, I'd recommend telling Hotch about this guy. He'll want to know as soon as possible, so he can send out a report to local police stations."

"Good idea." Reid agreed. "Thanks for your help, Garcia."

Reid opened the door and stepped outside, squinting slightly as his eyes readjusting to the light after the usual dimness of Garcia's office. He walked briskly back to his desk and reread the file yet again. Now having identified the UnSub, the threat had a new meaning, and an added degree of potency. Scott was a father in mourning over the loss of his son, and Reid had no doubt that he would stop at nothing until his death was avenged.

"Reid, any luck?" Hotch asked, stepping out of his office and peering down at him from the railed viewing area.

"Yes, actually. Garcia and I have identified the UnSub." Reid replied.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, and rushed down the steps towards Reid. "How can you be certain? We haven't received any new information since this morning's briefing."

"No, but we managed to cut down the suspect pool by reducing it to anthrax victims and their families." Reid explained. "A guy named Eric Scott came up. He's a doctor, working in microbiology. His son died in the recent anthrax attacks in Maryland. He led protests against government research, before disappearing a few months ago."

"He definitely sounds like our guy." Hotch agreed. "Excellent work, Reid. I'll have his photo circulated by local PD, as well as airport staff and other potential targets."

As Hotch walked away, Reid smiled involuntarily. Once Scott's photo had been released to the public, there was little chance that he would be able to attack anyone without being recognized, let alone the FBI. He sat down at his desk, sighing softly with relief. Perhaps the rest of the team would not be in danger after all.

Suddenly a siren began to wail, loud and piercing. Reid's eyes flew open, but were greeted by only darkness. There were shouts of confusion from all around him, and he could see the vague outlines of the rest of the team running out into the office space. There were questions being yelled over the loud, continuous drone of the siren, the office turning from quiet and productive to chaotic and deafening in a fraction of a second.

"What's going on?" Rossi asked irritably.

"They've cut the power!" Morgan exclaimed.

"We hadn't realized." JJ drawled sarcastically. "What's the siren?"

"Lockdown." Reid answered.

The yelling died down, as the team took in his words.

"Lockdown? Why?" Morgan asked, staring around the darkness as though expecting the lights to take the hint and switch back on.

"I don't know." Reid replied, shrugging, but a cold sensation was creeping into the pit of his stomach.

"What's going on?!" shrieked a voice sharply, as Garcia entered the room. "My computers have all switched off!"

"We're in lockdown, baby girl." Morgan explained calmly.

"Why?" Garcia asked instantly. "It doesn't make any sense! Where's Hotch?"

"I'm here." called a voice from the balcony. "Everyone, please remain calm. There's been a security breach."

"What type of security breach?" Rossi asked slowly.

"I phoned security to inform them about Eric Scott, the man Reid and Garcia have identified as the UnSub. I told them to keep a look out, just as general protocol." Hotch explained.

"So? That doesn't explain why they cut the lights." Prentiss stated.

"No, it doesn't, but this will. Security told me that they had just admitted a Dr. Eric Scott, on the basis of him helping us with the case." Hotch replied blankly.

"What do you mean _admitted?" _Garcia questioned.

"I mean admitted into the building. _This _building." Hotch stated, his voice wavering slightly. "The UnSub is here. We're the target."


	11. Chapter 10

"**It is unwise to be too sure of one's own wisdom. It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err." **

_**~ Mahatma Gandhi**_

The reaction was immediate - Garcia shrieked before clapping a hand over her mouth, JJ gasped quietly, and Rossi frowned deeply in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked impatiently, the first to speak since the announcement.

"We are the target." Hotch repeated slowly. "This whole case - the robbery, Anderson's murder, Pauline Mason's kidnapping - it was all aimed at the BAU."

"Hotch, that's impossible." Morgan replied dismissively. "We can't be the target. One of us would have noticed, there would have been some sort of indication-"

"I knew." Reid interjected quietly.

Six pairs of eyes flew at light-speed, their gazes falling over him with mingled confusion and denial. Prentiss' face fell, and she bowed her head.

"Reid, what do you mean, you _knew?" _Hotch asked sharply, his dark eyes surveying him coldly.

"I didn't know, not outright, but I suspected." Reid explained hastily, eyes downcast in shame. "I-I had a bad feeling when I was going through the files Rossi gave me, the ones about bioweapon threats. There was one in there aimed at the BAU."

"There couldn't have been. I would have been notified if any sort of terrorist threat was aimed at us." Hotch stated immediately, shaking his head.

"Not one of this type. See, it didn't mention the BAU by name." Reid explained, wringing his hands nervously. "It mentioned an FBI team that had supposedly been responsible for innocent lives being lost to anthrax. It only stood out because the threat specified the strain used - most just referred to general bioweapons."

"So why did you suspect that we were the target?" Morgan questioned in confusion.

"Well, it isn't every day that there are psychopaths with anthrax on the loose. We would have to be one of the few, if not the only, teams to have dealt with a case of that nature." Reid answered, his voice blank and expressionless. "I looked into it, and found our UnSub, Eric Scott. He's the father of one of the victims in the recent anthrax incidents, and had been interviewed by a local newspaper, stating his disgust and anger at the BAU for their failure to notify the public about impending biological attacks."

"We couldn't have, there would have been panic-" Morgan protested.

"I know, but Scott was a father in mourning. To him, we were the people responsible for his son's death. Justice needed to be served." Reid said, shrugging.

"Reid, I'm not even going to begin asking you why you didn't inform me about this." Hotch stated, anger lurking beneath the forced calm of his voice. "But it sounds like we have a potential situation here. We need to secure the building."

The team shifted their gaze to Hotch, whilst Reid shrank uncomfortably, guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave.

"Okay, Rossi, you come with me and search the offices. We need to locate Scott as soon as possible." Hotch directed. "The rest of you stay here and secure the main office."

"I'll search the elevator and the stairwell." Morgan suggested, and Hotch nodded affirmatively.

"I'll come." Reid interjected, straightening up suddenly.

"No, Reid, you stay here." Hotch retorted, shaking his head.

"I want to try and right some of this." Reid stated stubbornly, glaring at the unit chief with expectance and determination. Hotch returned the glare momentarily, but then sighed in submission.

"Fine, go with Morgan." he said hesitantly. "The rest of you stay here."

He turned away and jogged down the corridor, followed moments later by Rossi. Morgan spun to face Reid, a jumble of expressions on his face. He hesitated, staring at Reid searchingly, his dark eyes drowning in unasked questions.

"Alright, let's go." he said finally, spinning around and striding across the room. Reid followed hastily, feeling the eyes of the rest of the team follow him out the glass door and into the corridor.

The siren still blared noisily, and the only source of light was a flashing red alarm at the far end of the hall. Reid followed quickly after Morgan, eyes fixed firmly on the dimly lit figure. They reached the elevator, and Morgan snarled in annoyance.

"The power is off, he could be trapped in there." he snapped, banging the metal door in frustration. The sound echoed loudly over the wailing siren, and Reid winced from the noise.

"Surely that's a good thing, if he's trapped in there." Reid commented, eyeing the doors anxiously.

"Not if our job was to _locate _the UnSub." Morgan replied pointedly, moving towards the elevator.

Reid opened his mouth to protest, but Morgan had already grasped the doors. He heaved at them, his face contorted with the effort, until at last they opened with a groan, revealing an empty shaft. Morgan peered down into the total blackness, straining his eyes in an attempt to locate the elevator. Suddenly he gave a precarious wobble, and lurched forwards into the darkness. Reid jumped forwards with a gasp, hands scrambling to find their mark.

He felt his arms wrap around Morgan's torso, and he put all his strength into pulling him back. The pair swayed momentarily, on the verge of sliding into back into the shaft, before they both fell to the ground, panting.

"Haven't I told you before that there are 6 elevator-related deaths per year and 10,000 injuries that require hospitalization?" Reid puffed jokingly. "Don't mess with the odds!"

"I don't know. I don't listen to most of what you tell me." Morgan replied honestly, getting to his feet and offering Reid a hand, who took it gratefully. "Alright, enough with the elevator. Let's check the stairwells and get back to the main office. This place is creepy in the dark."

Morgan's silhouette disappeared into the darkness ahead, and Reid scrambled to follow him. The black enveloped the agents entirely, to the point that though he could hear Morgan's footsteps from just a few feet away, he could make out only the dimmest of outlines.

"Can't they turn the damn lights on?" Morgan snapped in frustration.

As though by command, the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling flickered into life, lighting up the corridor with their bright, unnatural light. Morgan grinned smugly, and continued down the corridor, Reid hastily trailing after him.

Arriving at the emergency stairway door, Morgan opened it cautiously, his hand straying beside the gun in its holster at his waist. He glanced up and down, examining the stairway quickly but efficiently.

"He's not here." Morgan stated with certainty, shaking his head and closing the door as he reemerged into the corridor. "So either he's on another floor or he's already loose in the corridors - hey, Reid, what's up?"

He rushed to the side of the stooped figure crouching beside the wall. The doctor gave no response except for a pained grimace. He pressed his hands over his eyes, drawing slow, labored breaths from between his fingers.

"Reid, are you okay?" Morgan asked, horrified.

"I-I'm fine. It's just the light, it's too bright." Reid muttered, rubbing his forehead agonizingly.

He removed his hands from his eyes, and the exposure to the light immediately sent another stabbing wave of pain to his searing headache. He ignored it as best he could, glancing up at Morgan's concerned face.

"You need to find Scott. Go. I'll make my way back to the others." he stated, speaking in short, strained sentences.

"Reid, man, you can't go anywhere like this." Morgan disagreed. "No, Scott can wait, I'll stay-"

"Scott can wait?" repeated a quiet voice from the end of the hallway.

Both agents whipped around to face the speaker, Reid immediately recognizing him as their UnSub, whilst Morgan barely had to guess - the man had a handgun in one hand, and a small vial of what could only be the stolen samples in the other.

"Scott can wait?" he mused, examining the vial in his hand with an almost disinterested gaze. "Is that what you said about my son, too, and the other innocent people that died because of your incompetence?"

Morgan didn't reply, his face blank and unresponsive.

"Well? Don't I even warrant a response? Just like I didn't warrant an apology, a letter of condolence, for my son!" Scott burst out angrily, the gun in his hand shaking. Morgan's hand crept slowly to his own weapon.

"Don't move, Agent Morgan." Scott threatened, raising the handgun to his eye level. "Unless you want to be the first person in this building to die. Stand up!"

Morgan obeyed, rising and raising his hands reluctantly, features unemotional and solemn.

"Now, give me your gun." he demanded, eyes fixed firmly on the weapon. "Slowly, please, Agent Morgan."

Morgan reluctantly reached for his belt, eyes fixed firmly on the UnSub. He slid it along the floor reluctantly, stopping just short of Scott, who picked it up with a smug smile.

"So you know my name?" he inquired, no surprise in his voice.

Scott laughed derisively. "Why of course, Agent. You were responsible for my son's death - I wanted to know every person in the team that killed my boy."

"Of course you did. You wanted to know us, where we came from, our families. You wanted to obsess over us, stare at our faces and imagine all the pain you could cause us. You wanted to know who we were, so you could identify the bodies when you'd killed us." Morgan stated with cold factuality.

Scott smiled sneeringly. "Yes, I did. A very good analysis, Agent Morgan."

"What can I say? We see UnSubs like you every day." Morgan replied, shrugging. "Psychopaths, crazed murderers, vigilante killers-"

"Enough!" Scott snarled, striding forwards, gun raised. "Enough talk."

"So what now, Scott? Are you going to kill us first, or just release the strain?" Reid inquired quietly, still crouched on the ground in pain.

Scott's eyes widened as he took notice of the figure hidden behind Morgan. "Is that young Agent Reid I hear?"

"_Dr. _Reid." he snarled in reply, staring up at the UnSub with cold determination despite the significant pain it caused him.

"Ah, of course, _Dr. _Reid." Scott remarked, smiling sarcastically. "The BAU's boy-genius, Caltech graduate-"

"As impressive as I find your obsessive stalking, Scott, I am quite familiar with my own personal details." Reid interrupted abruptly, making the man sneer unpleasantly. "What do you want from us?"

"Well, firstly, I'm afraid I'll be needing your gun also, Dr. Reid." he requested in mock politeness.

"I'm not armed." Reid replied immediately, with honest blankness.

Scott frowned. "Now, now, doctor, we must be cooperative-"

"If you'd have read a little further into my file you would have noted that I have a certain intolerance for firearms. I don't carry a gun." Reid responded plainly, rubbing his forehead in discomfort as another sharp pang of pain radiated through his head. "So if you wouldn't mind directing that gun somewhere else, I would be much appreciative."

"Much appreciative?" Scott scowled, stepping forwards and pointing the gun directly at the crouched figure. "I hate to tell you this, _Dr. Reid, _but this situation is far from in your control."

"Reid, don't make him angry." Morgan hissed quietly.

"Oh, it's too late for that. See, I am angry. _Very_ angry. I've been looking forward to this day for a very long time." Scott announced, with manic delight. "So if you don't mind, I have a few things to do. But the question is... what should I do with you two first?"

His eyes flickered from the figure of Morgan, his stance firm and protective, shielding Reid, who was huddled by the wall, face contorted with pain.

"I think I'll shoot Dr Reid first, because of his smart tongue." Scott decided finally. "Agent Morgan, step aside."

"Scott, you don't want to do this. Killing an FBI agent is a federal crime-" Morgan began slowly.

"No, I really think I _do_." Scott disagreed. "Step aside."

"Morgan, move-" Reid pleaded.

"No!"

"Please, Morgan, just-"

"No Reid, you're sick, I can't let him just shoot you while you're defenseless." Morgan protested firmly, his feet not shifting from their protective stance.

"Get out of the way!" Reid begged, bringing a hand to his face as his head rushed in disorientation.

"No. If he wants to shoot you, he'll have to get past me first." Morgan stated, turning away from the crippled doctor to face the UnSub.

"Fine. Have it your way." Scott said, shrugging indifferently.

The shot rang out deafeningly in the confines of the corridor, the lead bullet meeting its target. Morgan fell backwards, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud.


	12. Chapter 11

_**"Grief does not change you. It reveals you."**_

**~ John Green**

Reid let out a strangled cry, scrambling across the linoleum floor to Morgan's body. He drew panicked, shallow breaths as he hastily pressed a hand to his neck, feeling his friend's pulse faltering far too quickly for him to prevent. The statistics of out-of-hospital CPR revivals flashed through his mind instinctively - a success rate of less that 7%.

"No, no, Morgan, hang in there." Reid moaned, surveying the scarlet liquid blossoming across the crisp white shirt. "Hold on for me."

The UnSub eyed Reid with sadistic amusement as he began compressions on the lifeless body of the agent he had just gunned down.

"You may be a doctor, _Doctor Reid," _Scott drawled tauntingly. "But I don't rate your chances. Even a genius such as yourself can't bring back the dead, despite-"

He cut off mid-sentence, the sound of a gunshot echoing again through the corridor, as Hotch and Rossi rounded the corner, guns raised. Scott collapsed heavily, a pool of blood issuing from the bullet hole in his forehead.

"Morgan!" Rossi gasped, running forwards and dropping to his knees beside Hotch, who was already by the lifeless body's side. Hotch pushed Reid away, who fought back feebly, the piercing pain in his head returning now that the adrenaline had begun to fade.

"No, I want to do it." Reid protested weakly, fighting against Hotch's arms as they attempted to dissuade him from his revival.

"You've done enough." Hotch snapped shortly, and Reid recoiled from the mere coldness of his words. "Rossi, get a medical team up here now."

The older man stood and ran off down the corridor, leaving Reid and his unit chief alone beside the body of their lifeless comrade. He watched as Hotch pumped down on Morgan's blood-covered chest, pushing life into the lungs of one who's body was fighting strong against it.

It took far too long for the medical team to arrive; the power was still out, leaving the elevators unusable, and so the paramedics had to climb the stairs to reach their patient. Reid watched as the medics replaced Hotch, loading Morgan onto a gurney as the doctors continued to pump on his chest, their movements quick and professional, their expressions tense.

"He needs a hospital immediately." a paramedic yelled out. "Let's move."

Reid and Hotch were shoved aside as the doctors lifted the stretcher, making for the stairwell. Their pace was hasty and rushed - it seemed that speed was vital over cautious movements.

Moments later, the rest of the team came rushing into the corridor. Immediately their eyes fell onto the body of Scott, still lying in a pool of blood on the vinyl floor.

"What happened? Where's Morgan?" Prentiss asked breathlessly.

"He's been shot." Hotch replied shortly. "The paramedics have just taken him."

Garcia's face erupted into panicked distress.

"Is he alright?" she asked, anxiously written all over her face.

Hotch said nothing, but his face gave a clear enough reply.

Prentiss, JJ and Garcia ran for the stairwell, followed closely by Rossi and Hotch. Reid trailed after, head rushing as he tried to keep up, whilst the team sprinted down the dark stairs.

Reid didn't want to watch as the team burst out onto the parking lot, illuminated by blazing ambulance lights and the wail of sirens. He didn't want to see Garcia shriek and run to the sight of the motionless body sprawled on a stretcher, her face shining with tears. He didn't want to see JJ sob uncontrollably as the ambulance doors swung shut. He didn't want to watch Rossi's mortified expression as the van flew off with the screech of rubber on asphalt, whilst Hotch stared almost pleadingly up at the dark sky.

Yet he saw this all, and worse, and as much as he wished he could just turn away, hide himself from the pain and sorrow, he knew that he was responsible for all of it. There was no turning away from the guilt that tore his conscious to shreds.

"I'm so sorry." Reid whispered to no one in particular, tasting the salty tears as they slid down his face.


	13. Chapter 12

_**"How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?"**_

_**~ John Green**_

When later Reid looked back at the hours following the shooting, he would remember nothing but a vague blur of sound and motion. He recalled following the team out to their cars and being shoved into the back seat of Hotch's SUV, before moments later the tires screeched and they were pelting down the highway, traveling barely slower than the ambulance they were tailing.

Nobody spoke a word until the car pulled into the hospital car park. The white, fluorescent lights shone out through the darkness like a beacon signaling a ship at sea, and the team piled out of the SUV and dashed for the glass doors, following the lighted signs to the emergency ward.

"We're here for an Agent Derek Morgan, he arrived a few minutes ago." Hotch requested of the woman at the desk, his words hasty and urgent.

"He's been taken up to the Intensive Care Unit for surgery." she replied, brow furrowed empathetically as Garcia mouthed the words 'intensive care' in horror. "He won't be out for a few hours at least, I can call you when he-"

"We'll wait." Prentiss cut across quickly. "Which floor is he on?"

"Third floor, corridor to the right." she answered. "The elevator is just up the hall."

The team - Hotch, Rossi, JJ, Garcia, Prentiss and Reid - piled into the tiny elevator. Reid flinched from a claustrophobia only partially related to the physically cramping he was experiencing: the emotional compression was far, far more severe. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and Reid shrank under the perceived accusation from the others, his guilt tiding over irrepressibly.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open the team rushed into the corridor, their footsteps echoing loudly off the blank, sterile walls. Reid winced in pain as the blinding light pierced his eyes like a knife, his headache throbbing in nauseous waves that he tried to ignore as he followed the others up the hall.

Garcia and Prentiss led the way through the ICU doors, plastered with posters about visitor hygiene, and into the passageway, where they were immediately approached by a doctor in scrubs.

"You're the FBI team, right?" he asked, pulling back his face mask and addressing Hotch.

"How is he?" Hotch replied in way of answer, the team surrounding the doctor in an instant.

"Agent Morgan sustained a single shot to the torso. He's lost a lot of blood, and we're unsure at the moment whether the bullet has pierced any vital organs." he briefed them shortly, sighing.

"And if it has?" Rossi interjected.

"Each situation is very specific, and thus greatly varies." the doctor answered hesitantly, weighing each word carefully. "It'll be impossible to tell how he'll recover until he's out of surgery."

"Thank you, doctor." Hotch said, nodding gratefully as the man turned away.

The team shuffled into the waiting room, which unsurprisingly empty. Garcia collapsed into the nearest chair, JJ and Prentiss sitting either side of her, murmuring comfortingly. Hotch and Rossi were huddled in the corner, talking in quiet, serious voices. Reid walked over to the window, staring out into the darkness.

"Now I know how you felt with me, after the Doyle episode." Prentiss commented, holding her head up with one hand, shoulders slumped.

For once Reid's mind wasn't racing, and he was entirely without thought or theory. He felt empty, hollow; his stomach was heavy with guilt and concern, and he was more than aware of the eyes occasionally drawn to his figure, paired with murmured accusations and quiet speculation.

"What _happened?" _Rossi queried, and though his voice was low and soft, the words met Reid's ears without strain.

"I'm not entirely sure." Hotch replied hesitantly. "Morgan and Reid went off to search the stairways and elevators. Reid fell ill. Morgan was distracted. The UnSub took advantage of the situation."

"He fell ill?" Rossi repeated questioningly.

"I'm not sure of the details, but regardless of the situation, now isn't the time to be running hypotheticals." Hotch said, shaking his head. "Once we know where we stand with Morgan we can investigate the scenario. The bureau will make an inquiry and run interviews then."

Reid's stomach lurched sickeningly. He mentally counted up his errors: withholding information vital to a case, seriously endangering not only his own team but also the entire headquarter's worth of agents, and participating in fieldwork whilst in insufficient health. Not to mention hiding possible mental illness from his unit chief... Reid shook away _that _thought uncomfortably.

He knew exactly what his symptoms indicated. Blurred vision, piercing headaches, disorientation, nausea, and worse than all of that (in Reid's mind), forgetfulness, distraction, and scattered thought patterns. He had reached the danger age for the condition he had always feared above all others, and he could hide from it for only a short whole longer. The bureau's inquiry would unearth everything about his deterioration. Yet Reid planned to keep it under the hood for as long as he could - he couldn't bear to face the problem, couldn't bear to admit his weakness.

The hours drifted by, slowly and painfully. Rossi had retreated to the couch and was lying immobile, though his eyes were wide open, examining the entirely featureless roof. Garcia was sitting in the same chair, stiff and motionless, her gaze darting around the room impatiently. On her left, JJ was slumped back in her seat, apparently asleep; on her right Prentiss sat with her knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes downcast. Hotch had been pacing, treading the same stretch of laminate floor for over an hour, but had at last taken a seat in the corner, his brow bent in a permanent crease.

Reid still stood by the window, eyes cast out into the night, no word passing his lips. His head swam nauseously, his headache fading but his queasiness increasing tenfold. He refused to move, though, refused to react, hoping that in ignoring his illness it might fade.

"Reid, sit." Hotch murmured, his tone soft in contradiction to his harsh tone earlier.

"I'm fine." he replied dismissively, voice monotonous.

"You've been standing for hours, Reid. Sit. Rest."

Reid turned away from the window unwillingly, immediately regretting his decision as the eyes of Garcia, Prentiss and Hotch flew to his face, instinctively surveying it for any emotion.

_Profilers profiling a profiler, _Reid thought dully, sinking into the nearest chair.

"How are you?" Hotch asked, moving across the room and taking a seat beside him.

"I'm fine." he repeated, untruthfully.

"Reid, you'll have to lie better than that." Hotch stated shortly. "You're clammy, pale, and, if you feel half as bad as you look, you need to be anywhere but here at the moment. That's not even taking into account what this has done to you psychologically."

"I'm not leaving, if-" Reid began defiantly, before Hotch cut him off with a gently reproving glare.

"That's not what I'm saying." he said softly. "I wouldn't ask that of you. Just... let us understand. Tell us what's going on. We can help."

"No, you can't." Reid retorted icily. "You can't help, because I don't know what's going on. I..."

He trailed off hopelessly.

"That's not true. You know what's happening to you. You just don't want to face it." Hotch contradicted cautiously.

"Well, I commend your _insightful_ profiling abilities."Reid said, laughing derisively. "You are right, I don't want to face it. I don't want to face anything at the moment."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but Reid cut him off.

"You know what's going through my head right know? Statistics. I know exactly the percentage of patients that make it through surgeries like these. I know the complications and variables, and I must make it profoundly clear that they are numerous! If Morgan makes it through this surgery it'll be a miracle, but even if he does, I've caused not only him, but the whole team, an incomparable amount of pain. Would _you _want to face that, Hotch? _Could _you? Because I'm not strong enough. I can't, I mean, I..."

Reid trailed off, his voice shaking, eyes swimming with tears.

"An apology could never make up for what I've done to you all, for the danger I've put you in." he choked.

"What about the danger I put you in on a daily basis?" Hotch retorted. "You've been captured by a psychopath, tortured, drugged, shot-"

"That's part of the job." Reid snapped shortly.

"You're right, it is. And it was part of Morgan's job too. He knew the risks. The odds just weren't in his favor today." Hotch replied calmly.

"Let's hope his luck improves somewhat." Reid mumbled in reply, head bowed.

There was a knock at the door. Reid's head shot up, and he met the eyes of the doctor that had briefed them hours earlier. JJ snapped out of her seemingly asleep state in a fraction of a second, and Rossi sat up solemnly. The six agents instinctively got to their feet, eyes fixed on the doctor, his expression unreadable as he cleared his throat.


End file.
